


Bernadetta Writes

by financedsquash0



Series: Dimilix Week 2021 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bernadetta Writes Friendfiction, Bernadetta von Varley Has Anxiety, Fanfiction in a fanfiction, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, M/M, Matchmaker Sylvain Jose Gautier, Nudity, Pining Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/financedsquash0/pseuds/financedsquash0
Summary: 2021 Dimilix Week: Prompt 1.Valentine's Day.This was Bernadetta's source of inspiration for an angstless story commission? A man, a noble, lacking sleep and training at odd hours of the morning like a man haunted? Angst and Dimitri Blaiddyd?Tautology.She always thought Sylvain was crazy.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: Dimilix Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167251
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	Bernadetta Writes

* * *

_“You can not wander off, Felix.”_

_“I can do whatever I want, boar.”_

_Dimitri did his best to keep eye contact with the man before him, but it was difficult. Difficult because the tide was licking their feet, having spewed the both of them from the depths of the ocean and onto a sandy shore. More difficult even, because there was no telling if there were injuries that littered either of their skin, and Felix was more likely to verbally abuse him than tell him his leg needed amputation. And most difficult because...because well… “Felix, you do not have any pants.”_

_“...shut up.”_

“Bernadetta!”

The shrill scream ripped from her was almost second nature by now, but her hand jerking violently across her manuscript due to a heavy weight appearing on her shoulder was an unwelcome addition. Mouth agape, Bernadetta von Varly stared at the spreading ink line marking across the bane of her existence. “S-Sylvaaaaiiiiin!” Her whine was more piercing than she remembered—it really had been a while since she had crept from her room and been caught.

How was he able to find her here every time?

The redhead in question was smiling obnoxiously, peering over her shoulder at the line on the manuscript. “Ooooooh yikes. You should be more careful, that looks pretty bad.”

“What do you want!?”

Flopping down on the corner of her desk, Sylvain propped his hands behind his head. “I was coming to check up on my commission, of course! How’s it been going lately?”

Why did he think she was social all of a sudden? Ever since Sylvain had written her that letter about her previous manuscript—an embarrassing self insert about a dragon-slaying adventurer which was quite frankly her best work to date—she couldn’t seem to get rid of him. He’d been so sly, adding his review on a note tucked into the scroll. But then he approached her asking to read more. Then more. And finally, he was asking her for a commission!

She had flushed excitedly at the time, but now. NOW! The request he had was borderline unreasonable. He told her it would be a challenge, that it would be something that only she could do.

Smooth-talking jerk!

“Bernadetta? Everything okay over there? Can I take a look?”

She batted his hand away, barely able to see it creeping across the table towards the edge of her scroll. “No! It’s not done yet!”

“C’mon Bernie; I should at least take a look and see if it fits my request, right?”

“Is...is that a thing people normally do at the market?”

“For a commission? You should probably read it out to me.”

“R-read it out LOUD?!”

“Or you could just…” He held his hand out, wiggling his fingers.

The scroll was thrust into his arms, nearly knocking over the inkwell and feather. “Take it!”

Sylvain smiled pleasantly—dastardly—as she crossed her arms, flushing as her work was perused. It wasn’t her fault it was bad. And of course it would be bad! His request was ridiculous, Valentine’s Day be damned, and there was no way someone was going to want to read her horrible writing! He was going to be mad at her after this, and that’s if she was lucky!

“Hmmmm.” Oh no. Here it comes. His scathingly honest review. “Why did Felix lose his pants?”

...What? “Wh-what?”

“I mean, it’s good!” He said that way too fast, there was no way that’s what he thought! “But I guess...when I said I wanted the characters based on Dimitri and Felix, I kind of meant having them here—in the Academy.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. I like this though, can I keep it?”

It didn’t matter at this point if the heat on her face was coming from the candle burning nearby or otherwise. She couldn’t tell anyways. Bernadetta snatched the manuscript out of Sylvain’s hand as he moved to tuck it between his hip and golden corded belt, willing her eyes not to well up with tears. “NO! I’ll finish it for you, just please don’t tell anyone I’m here!”

He sighed, standing up to move towards the door. “Excellent! I guess I’ll check in with you tomorrow. There’s still a week or so left until I need it. I guess I’ll see you later?”

She really hoped not.

_“But Professor—!”_

_“Please, Felix. You don’t have to speak so formally with me.”_

_“Fine then—boar!”_

_Dimitri felt his heart drop somewhere down near his knees. It didn’t seem to matter that they had been together at the Officer’s Academy for the past year. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the youngest addition to the Blue Lions house this year, was never going to tame his tongue for anyone, let alone the professor of martial studies who tended to keep him after class. And of course, it was never for the reasons Felix suspected. Was it so bad that Dimitri wanted to spend some extra time with the boy? They were so close in age—it was a miracle Dimitri was able to become a teacher so early anyways—and he wanted to be closer. There wasn’t anything quite like engaging the young swordsman in a quick one-on-one at the training grounds._

_There was no doubt from the questioning look on Felix’s face that he had not stopped talking, but Dimitri had heard none of it. How was he ever going to get Felix to look at him the way he wanted? Like a friend? Like...like a lover? It was impossible; he knew he didn’t deserve the younger man’s attention, his hands too soaked with blood and mind weighed down by loss. It was only a matter of time before he left—like they all left—like his friends and father and—!_

“Bernadetta, I said no angst!”

She was proud of herself. Unlike yesterday, she managed not to scream or put another scratch across her well-worn manuscript. It didn’t matter if now there was deep black ink streaming down her curled strands, or that her current project had flown halfway across the library floor before flopping to a stop nearby the scratches where Lindhart often paced. “I can’t help it!” Bernadetta cried, covering her face with her hands.

“Fluff, Bernie! Fluff!” Sylvain emphasized, picking up the pitched parchment. “And Dimitri is so sad!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Look. Have you gone to watch those two like I suggested?”

“...I...I’ve watched His Highness.”

Sylvain’s stare almost went through her. “...and Felix?”

“He- He’s terrifying!”

Sylvain barked a quick laugh, trying his best to smother it with the hand not holding her manuscript. “Okay fine; Felix can be a little rough around the edges when he wants to be. I wouldn’t want to get close to him either if I were you.”

He quieted down for a moment, eyes roving over her paper. They looked a little pinched, but he seemed more engrossed than before...or at least, she thought he did. Sylvain could be a little hard to read. When he was interested, he was quiet. Like right now, his eyes roved over the page, a slight quirk to his lips. He wasn’t trying to fake a smile for her. He wasn’t showing her a mask as he tried to peer through the lens she painted, considering her work. She almost wasn’t ready for his eyes to meet hers again, her body jolting in her chair involuntarily.

“Professor Dimitri, huh?” He didn’t ask to keep the parchment this time, tucking it into the leather cord around his waist and twisting it to be behind him. Out of her reach. Clever jerk. “I was hoping to have a story with both the Dimitri and Felix...alike...characters as students together. Something closer to say... best friends reuniting at the academy after a long separation. Some misunderstandings, but mostly fluff. One of them is a huge crybaby. No angst, though. Remember? Do you think you could write that in...say...the next few days?”

Was he paying her for this? She couldn’t remember. “I...I can try.”

“Great!” He was far too upbeat for this.

There was no way she was going to produce something he liked in such a short time. Regardless, there was no giving up on this commission! It was her first, and she’d be damned if she didn’t give it everything she had. Even if it wasn’t much. She managed, several very long minutes after rising before the crack of dawn, to leave her dormitory and slip into the training grounds. Sticking to the shadows of the columns, she huddled down near the entrance with a hardcover book over her knees, a scroll laid out flat with her ink well perched on top. The rack of training swords and lances was situated on the other side of the yard, notable only because Dimitri was already there, and a lance was naturally missing from the rack. The man didn’t value sleep if the darkening bags beneath his eyes were anything to go by.

He’d been like that a lot lately. The Blue Lion class had disappeared last month to visit Remire Village, and even though Bernadetta had been safely out on another mission with the Black Eagles she couldn't miss the change in their faces. Sylvain was a villainous mastermind with the control he had of his emotions; but Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes could not hide their disturbance. Edelgard did not tell them what happened to the Lions, but it seemed to have affected the more robust members of the group as well. Dedue had quieted more than usual, and Felix seemed angrier- or at least his verbal outbursts had increased in severity.

Bernadetta never wanted to be a people watcher, but Sylvain’s commission was causing her to invest far more time in the other house than she would have preferred.

Creaking and a sharp snap caused Bernadetta to glance to where Dimitri stood in the middle of the training grounds, the splintering remains of the training lance fisted in each hand. He had been doing that a lot lately as well. Staring into space, breaking any wooden object he could get his hands on—spoon included—and muttering under his breath at the evidence of his behavior. She would have been more concerned, but his feet were dragging. His gaze was hazy and uncoordinated. He hardly seemed to see her, tucked back in her corner. Dimitri had also taken to barging into the library late at night while she was writing, a flurry of motion and focus, slamming through book after book, and often not cleaning up afterward. He never so much as looked at her. She wasn’t sure he knew she existed.

His Highness seemed angrier than usual, dark shadows pooling beneath his eyes and over the tops of his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure he had made it to breakfast, since the mess hall was only just opening before she arrived to find him training. This was her source of inspiration for an angstless story? A man, a noble, lacking sleep and training at odd hours of the morning like a man haunted?

Angst and Dimitri Blaiddyd?

Tautology.

She always thought Sylvain was crazy.

But a promise was a promise! There had to be some way she could get information to build a less miserable character—some moment that if not this Dimitri, then SOME Dimitri could be...not...miserable. Happy even? No, no Bernie, happy might be too much. Maybe something more like—

“Strange to see you out, are you planning on training?”

How her assailant had gotten behind her—or how he had finished his sentence over her shriek—was unknown. “Yuri! Don’t DO that!”

Yuri Leclair stood beneath the shadows of the columns by her side, hands placed on his hips as he leaned over her. “Don’t do what? Stand in the shadows where people can’t see me and observe them? Whatever you say, Pot.”

No doubt the flush on her cheeks was touching her hairline. Now if only she could control her quivering lips long enough to tell him off!

“Say, you wouldn’t be taking notes on the young prince, would you? That would be borderline treasonous.” The stretching grin on his cheeks could have touched his ears. “You should have asked me for help.”

“No!” Papers spilled onto the floor in a flurry of white, and the ink well was sideways in her hands, smudges coating the tips of her fingers. “Yuri, don’t scare me like that!”

“You whine so adorably.”

“Stop teasing me!”

Lavender hair whipped around and he shook his head, a hand to his mouth barely suppressing his mirth. “Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled, reaching down and glancing over a few pages as he collected them. “What are you writing, anyway?”

“I got a commission. A friend of His Highness wanted me to write something for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh? Would this perhaps be the Gautier boy then?”

Sylvain was a menace—being on Yuri’s radar was not a good sign. “Did- Did he tell you!? Is he telling everyone! Oh no. Oh no no no. This is awful, everyone’s going to be so mad at me! There’s no way I can—!”

“Okay, okay! Take it easy, Bernadetta.” Had the air always been so thin? And when had Yuri gotten so close! He was practically kneeling at her side, squatting on the balls of his toes. He held the papers in his hand out towards her. “How’s the Gautier heir’s request so difficult? We both know you love writing, there’s no one better suited to manage than yourself. What’s he asking you to write?”

“He...He wants a story based on His Highness.”

“...Odd, but that doesn’t sound so terrifying. Just have the young prince on a dragon-slaying adventure, that should satisfy.”

“OOooooohhhhh why did you have to bring that story up!? It was one self-insert one!”

“Is that a no for the dragon, then?”

Bernie took the papers from Yuri’s hand, resting them between her clenched fists and the book on her knees. “He...He wants a love story.”

“...alright. You like those. Hop to it.”

“A love story between him and Felix Fraldarius.”

The sound of the wind whispering through the columns was deafening.

“W...without angst.”

Yuri stood abruptly, patting the sand off his knees. “I’ll write your eulogy.”

With a cry, she grabbed anything—anything at all—near where he was standing. Somehow, she ended up nearly sitting on his boots, the feeling of the slippery white leather beneath her making it hard to stay still. “Please, Yuri! You have to help me!”

A small struggle and ripped tunic on Yuri’s part naturally—Bernie was scrappy when she needed to be—found him sitting by her side, an arm slung over one knee while he reclined. The sun had finally spilled into the training yard and brought with it the biggest problem of her life.

Felix Fraldarius stood in the center of the yard, moving through sword forms.

At this point, she couldn’t tell if he didn’t notice she was there, or if he just didn’t care. He might have had a third eye though. Any time she paid him any mind, he seemed to lock gazes with her from across the room before scoffing and breaking contact—like he knew she was watching and hated it. But right now, it must be too early. His footwork and the stability of his sword arm were on point, flowing from the required Lecküchner forms the Fraldarius House studied to the Shinkage-Ryu style he preferred. And while the subject was fascinating, there were many things that she did not want to know about swordsmanship. Upon seeing her study, Edelgard had questioned her desire to begin sword training. Damn Felix and his fanatical interest in swordsmanship; damn her for trying to write him in character. But, against his usual tendency, his gaze settled somewhere over the training weapon racks in the back, sightless. 

If Felix were an animal, Bernadetta supposed he would be a cat, moving on reflex with claws and teeth alike. When they laid on their backs and showed her their trust, it took all her self-control to not rub their bellies. But the consequence was predictable. Fear of rubbing Felix the wrong way was keeping her in the corner; and she suspected she wasn’t the only one.

Maybe...maybe she should force him out of the corner? But Bernie is no mastermind, and she shouldn’t think like that. Forcing someone! What a cruel and pointless idea; if anyone ever caught wind of what she was doing, she would be in so much trouble.

But sitting here watching the swordsman swing wasn’t helping her figure out how to write this request. But...forcing two cats INTO a corner might lead to a more interesting situation—something inspiring.

Even if one was a lion.

“Yuri, I…”

The man beside her shifted. Sighed. “What is it Bernadetta?”

He didn’t have to sound so put out. “I think...I think I need your help with something?”

“Is that a request, or a question?”

“A...a request.”

* * *

Heart pounding, teeth chattering, he caught himself only barely as his reflexes tried to throw him bodily from the comfort of his bed. Surely, if he hit the ground again Dedue would spare no hesitation to rush to his side. Consequently, he would wake and embarrass the three men of the Farghus four. Dimitri himself, most of all. How he could find any energy to worry about Dedue arriving was startling. Was he truly growing so used to these nightly haunts that his vassal coming to his aid was more terrifying and embarrassing than watching the heads of his countrymen roll? His friends...His parents—Glenn—

Enough.

He stood finally, both feet placed over the edge of his bed with minimal haste. Controlling himself after several nights of little rest was always difficult. Just as it was difficult to show his friends that nothing was wrong and no, he did not need more help or attention. The bedpost creaked as his hand tightened about it and he removed it with haste.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to write Rodrigue. He had found himself feeling suffocated lately, by night terrors and classmates alike. The horrors of Remire Village had rekindled the flames he tried so hard to cover, to hide the thirst beneath layers of benevolence and camaraderie. Rodrigue was somewhat of a second father to him, and Dimitri often found that writing a letter could quell his late-night musings. Even if it was to remain unsent as this one would be.

Dimitri paced to the other side of the room, hoping to keep his bare feet on the carpet quiet enough that Dedue below him was not disturbed. The man had been keeping a watchful eye lately, monitoring his sleep schedule and food and everything between and beyond; but Dedue seemed immune to Dimitri’s steps, and so his trips to the library would remain unnoticed. But best not to tempt fate. Seating himself, Dimitri pulled a pad of paper and quill before him, eyes blurring a little. He really shouldn’t be awake at this hour. Though it was unlikely he would get back to sleep.

Should he tell Rodrigue that he wasn’t sleeping? What a ridiculous thought. It would cause the poor man nothing but displeasure to think his prince could not rest due to old dreams. He could never bring such grief to him—especially when it was not only Dimitri who had suffered losses that day. But...there was no doubt Rodrigue would have concocted some tricks to help his children rest. Chamomile tea, for a child as unruly and willful as Glenn. Something heavier for his youngest, who was easy to cry and prone to nightmares.

Felix…

What would Felix have to quiet himself? Tea seemed too simple. Too ineffective to quell the active, adventurous boy Dimitri remembered. Quick to tears, any nightmare would topple him over the edge into a deluge. Or perhaps, Felix would steal away to share a bed with his brother. Maybe Rodrigue himself, back when he wasn’t waging a war against his only remaining family. Somehow, Dimitri found himself staring at the blank back wall of his little stand-alone desk, quill poised in hand. Felix himself was only on the other side of that wall. If things were as they were before...could he have visited at such an hour? Would Felix have allowed him to crawl into his bed, as he had done for the youngest Fraldarius many times? Rather than sit here, alone with the rock sinking ever deeper into the hollow spaces of his chest and stomach, the vice-grip ever tightening on his throat. His screams died in his throat, the force of his choked back tears silencing all that he was. All that he may be.

A thump from the wall before him ripped him from his musings. It was unlike the others to be up this time of night, especially Felix. Since coming to the Officer’s Academy, Felix had slept through the nights, silent in sleep and loud with reproach when he was awake. The man could be like a wraith some days, a rampaging bull on others. This seemed to be one of the later times, glass breaking clear from the room next door. Hopefully, Felix’s tantrum wouldn’t wake Ashe below him.

Except...except Felix wouldn’t do that to Ashe. Intentionally shatter priceless objects and wake the boy in the middle of the night, that is. The Fraldarius was attentive to the people he cared about—not Dimitri, obviously—and he had seemed to take a shine to Lonato’s son. So then what was this racket?

One more sound. One more crash and—!

Dimitri stood at the sound of something hitting the floor, moving to the door with three long strides. He grasped the knob and flung it open, the door impacting the wall behind it. If someone was coming in the middle of the night to dispose of the next Fraldarius heir, they miscalculated both Dimitri’s ability to sleep through the night and his loyalty, despite Felix’s anger. There was no way any assassin would take the future duke. No way he would lose another friend. He would rather die. Would rather die than lose another person he lov...

His hand hesitated before the knob of Felix’s door. His head felt light, limbs loose and heart in a weightless free fall. Is that what all this was about? Constant nights of fear of losing him; wondering if they would ever speak again?

Hand seizing the door, he realized none of these revelations mattered if Felix did not survive the night. “Felix!”

He...maybe should not have yelled. The room may have been calm once. Somewhere between his shout, a flurry of movement, and a tangle of limbs, Dimitri found himself on his back. His head ached and he could only guess it hit the floor. An amateur move, he realized only now that he had come without weaponry. And that a very surprised, very upset Felix was sitting with both knees locking Dimitri’s arms to his side, left hand pressing down roughly against his clavicle with almost bruising force. Did he mention the small dagger aimed at his adam’s apple?

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” Why did it sound like Felix was trying to be quiet? Dimitri did not doubt that if his head hit the floor as hard as he suspected it did, Ashe and Dedue would be upstairs in a few minutes.

“Felix, you don’t want to do that.” At least his voice was still easy to find. Even if the tip of the blade scratched across his skin.

“Boar.” Not a question, a statement soaked in derision. “Why are you here?”

Those knees were still pressed against his side, warm through his loungewear. Though the dagger had withdrawn from his neck, Dimitri knew he was far from out of trouble. Why was he here…? Why was he here?

“Ah! My apologies.” He could almost hear Felix scoffing, removing the hand pinning him down in what must be confirmation that Dimitri was himself and not an imposter. “Are you here on your own?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I...I heard noises-- crashing. I thought y-...we might be under siege.”

Felix snorted, crossing his arms. His body was very warm. “And you thought I needed your help?”

Did he not? It sounded like an intense struggle. If it wasn’t, then what had he been hearing? He should not be so loud so late at night. It was rude to their dormitory mates at best, and horrid to his neighbors at worst. The condemnation of such activities was fresh on his tongue. But a wisp of stray black-blue hair spilling off thin shoulders pulled his attention sideways.

Felix had his hair down. He was still talking to be sure, arms crossed and legs still locking Dimitri into place. The tirade he was on must be one for the centuries if his downturned lips and wicked narrowed eyes gleaming venomous at Dimitri was anything to go by. Those strands of midnight hair spun tales across his shoulder, waves clinging close to his Faerghus pale skin then dancing away in inherited waves. The tips of his bangs licked the underside of his sharp-pointed chin. Tendons pulled from his jaw down his neck as he continued what was surely verbal abuse. Yet somehow, his protests seemed muffled against the soft dip of his exposed collarbones, not a threat in sight. The thread of any clothing was absent. The light from the candle in the hallways spilled in the doorway, gleaming off the mounded plain of Felix’s chest. “And what are you staring at?”

Felix’s sharp voice pulled Dimitri's gaze back up to his eyes. “Ah...apologies.”

With a huff, the boy straddling him—straddling him, Felix!—allowed his shoulders to relax. If he lay beneath his childhood friend any longer, the beat of his heart was going to thud through the floor. Surely then, Ashe would panic thinking it was a haunting. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, then get out of my sight. If I am under attack in the future, I will handle it. Do you understand, boar?”

“Felix, you are…”

“I’m what?”

“You are,” _beautiful_ , “...quite indecent.”

“Your Highness!”

Dedue eclipsed the light in the doorway. Turning his head, Dimitri could see how the candlelight haloed the almost white of his hair. A clink resounded through the room as Felix finally dropped the knife. Looking up, Dimitri could not make out a single emotion on Felix’s face. Never stoic, his lips appeared paralyzed in a snarl. “Oooooooh, what did we miss?”

Sylvain. At the sound of his voice, Felix dove off of Dimitri and towards his bed, pulling the sheets clean off. “Sylvain.” Dimitri greeted, sitting up as Dedue approached his side with steady steps. “Good evening.”

“Felix! I knew you had it in y—”

“Get out of my room!”

Had Felix been directing that ire at Dimitri, he would be tripping over himself to leave the room. As it was, Sylvain, dressed in his house loungewear, sauntered into the room past the sprawl of Dedue supporting Dimitri at the edge of the rug and towards the bed. Felix tensed, teeth bared and arms coiled tight around the blanket now covering most of his body. He looked like a cornered house cat, tucked into the edge of the mattress and sheltered by the blue sheets. “Your Highness,” A broad hand supported Dimitri’s back, “you must tell me what is going on. Do you need my assistance?”

“Yes, your princeliness.” Claude too? Was the whole monastery going to be privy to this encounter? “Do tell us what you are doing in the young duke’s room at such odd hours. Nothing untoward, I’m sure.”

Had Sylvain not been talking to Felix and keeping him occupied, Claude would have gotten an earful. “Nothing untoward, my friend.” Dimitri pulled away from Dedue behind him, beginning to hike to his feet. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“Does this misunderstanding involve one of you wearing clothes while the other is not? Reciprocation is important, Your Highness.”

His cheeks burned. Felix swore. Sylvain was going to die, but probably not before Claude died of laughter. In the darkness of the hallways, behind the head of the Golden Deer house, Ashe colored spectacularly.

_One hand, finally free of the gauntlet, roamed over the flat of Felix’s back. It was impossible not to appreciate the snow-white paleness of his skin, even while his legs ached with the need to move from his position beside the bed. Oh, Goddess help him, his hands continued down along the dip in Felix’s back, slowing to a stop just above the fatal curve of his hips. They canted back along with his touch, lithe and wanting. “Dimitri, why are you hesitating?”_

_Trills of pleasure crackled down his fingertips. “I promise, beloved. I am not hesitating. Merely appreciating. I had no idea you slept bereft of your clothes…”_

_Of course, he had not meant to burst in unannounced. His darling childhood friend had always shared a wall with him, locked beyond his reach every night. But tonight, that distance would be no more. The sound of danger had woke him and pulled him to Felix’s side. An assassin, a dastard so dastardly to try and take his lover’s life, had sailed out the window with a heaving throw by Dimitri himself, making use of every ounce of Blaiddyd strength. And the look on Felix’s face was priceless. Lips parted, eyes opened to see Dimitri be the prince in shining armor he always was. Running one calloused finger along the seam of Felix’s lips and tangling one hand in his hair, Dimitri found himself unable to part from his beloved’s body after that._

“...dastardly dastard, huh? That’s not a nice way to talk about a friend doing you a favor.”

How do people keep sneaking up on her like this? And in her room! At some point, she would have to be less surprised right? Do people acclimate to surprise attacks?

Somehow, her scream of alarm came out as nothing more than a peep, and the ink well stayed right in place. Finally! “Yuri!” Her body curled slightly over her papers.

Yuri had his head canted to the side, observing her works through the triangle of her elbow. Even her moves to cover it seemed ineffective. He was judging her, wasn’t he? He saw what she was writing! Ooooooooh, why did she agree to write this for Sylvain again? Why was she trying so hard!? To be fair, Sylvain had not asked for obscene literature starring his best friends, but but but-! “I can hear your thinking from here, Bernadetta. By the way, I assume last night’s adventure was worth it. Your writing speed has increased.”

“Y-yes! It helped very much, thank you!”

“I have to say,” Yuri grunted as he fell into the chair placed by her desk. “I never expected you of all people to request a prowling. Especially not one targeting the Fraldarius heir. So tell me, do you think this will be sufficient for your story?”

Did she? She had excellent ideas to work with, thanks to Yuri’s intervention… and while she wasn’t expecting to find out that Felix slept au naturale, it was excellent source material. Fulfilling Sylvain’s request to write a fluffy, angst-free story was not possible, but she could manage to make up for the lack of angst with some erotica, right? Sylvain was the kind of guy who would appreciate that. Her view of Prince Dimitri’s face that night from her spot, slightly hidden behind Ashe, told her enough of what she needed to know about his feelings for his longtime friend. Did he know he made that face? Everyone else in the room would have been happy to point it out. “I...I think I can make it work. Thank you again for your help!”

“Great. I believe you owe me a favor now, as was our deal.”

“Th-There was no deal!”

Several hours later and a delivered coffee (another favor to Yuri), the early morning found Bernadetta walking up the stairs towards the same room she had visited the two nights previous. Except this time, instead of the antics and eyeful of last night, she continued by Felix’s closed door, past Dimitri’s, and stopped before the menace’s door. Knocking. Right.

Her manuscript crinkled between her hands, edges bound in red and pink embroidery. It was done. She managed to finish his request. But what if he hated it? Delivering this was so difficult! There was no way he was going to like it! How could she think this was a good idea!? Let’s just turn around and walk away now, then he can’t be mad.

“Bernadetta! You’re here! Do you have my commission ready?”

Thank the Goddess she thought ahead to make a spiral binding. Otherwise, the currently bound copy resting on the floor would be scattered above their heads. “S-Sylvain! I…I finished the work, as you requested!”

Wordlessly, he stooped and picked up the manuscript from the floor. “I knew you could do it!” Praise? He wouldn’t be praising her once he looked inside. “No angst, right?”

“W-well…” Sylvain paused in thumbing open the first few pages to glance up at her. She shifted from foot to foot. “It's okay, though! I had a friend help a little. We...we needed to observe some reactions to some specific-!”

“You! That was you the other night?” Oh no, he sounded sorta mad.

“Yuri! It was Yuri, totally his idea—all his fault! Bernie didn’t do anything! Bernie just watched, I swear!”

Was he...was he laughing? “You have guts, Bernadetta. Felix was threatening murder last night, and I’m not sure he cared if his target was the perpetrator or Dimitri.” Was that a good thing? “Y’know what, consider us even. That was the most enjoyment Claude and I have had in a while. Thanks, Bernadetta.”

“O-oh...well, okay then. I...I’m glad you...What?”

Had his eyes always crinkled when he smiled? Sylvain reached a hand out and ruffled her hair, leaving what she could only assume was a disaster in his wake. “Thanks again. I’ll deliver your gift to my friend as soon as possible.”

Wait...gift?

Yuri finally cashed in on that favor. Professor Byleth had requested that Yuri eat a mid-morning meal with them, and he, in turn, demanded that Bernadetta join them. Sometimes, she thought the Professor might make him as uncomfortable as they made her, but he laughed her off with a wave. He just wanted her out of her room—a combination of a good friend and evil mastermind. A terrible mix, really.

It was between a spoonful of creamy peach sorbet—seriously, Professor Byleth knew the best stuff for everybody—that Bernadetta’s gaze drifted to the Blue Lion table on the far side of the hall. Prince Dimitri sat, Dedue at his side as usual, before the windows leading out to the green courtyard, and light spilled across the thick stack of papers in his hand. It wasn’t so staggering to see him looking over documents. Bernadetta had seen Edelgard leafing through her fair share of administrative documentation. But it was strange that his hand was firmly over his mouth, clutching his chin almost contemplatively. And his face was turning a steaming red, matching Sylvain’s hair where he sat on the prince’s other side. Red and pink yarn rested along the edge of the document, spelling out her doom.

No.

There was no way.

She caught Sylvain’s eye.

He offered her a jaunty wink.

The whole room dimmed to a roar as Dimitri tucked her manuscript away. His eyes roved through the dining hall, finally resting on Felix Fraldarius himself where he sat with the Golden Deer table alongside Leonie and Lysithea, discussing something about Jeralt’s traps and cake loud enough that it pierced through her muted hearing. Dimitri’s arousal would have been innocuous, except for the uncomfortable shifting of his legs beneath the table as he watched Felix continue to quietly eat his own sorbet, making a small miserable face at the taste. Dimitri’s adjustment would have little meaning, could have had little meaning, except Bernadetta had spent the last three weeks observing him.

Either Bernie was going to be locked in a dungeon for the rest of time...or she had accidentally designated the future queen consort of Faerghus.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick edits added to fix spelling and punctuation issues. Sorry for that!


End file.
